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[darkflagrance]

Dwarves will eventually recover from anything that doesn't kill nerves or result in the severing of body parts.

Whether or not infection will set in first is another matter entirely.

[varnish]

(Ushilzagath: I got no problem with what you're doing. I like having reader input. I might change some things to suit the story, but for now, you've provided impetus for some pretty interesting developments. Keep it up.)

Autumn in the Bonelands, or, From Bad to Worse to...

“Hey, Anglur! You the one in charge right now?” Anglur looked up from the letter she was drafting. It would be good to get news of the latest events back to the mountainhomes, and let those interested know smoothly things were going. She didn't need interruptions from... Dariush, she thought the dwarf's name was.

Nevertheless, “Yes, for the time being. What is so urgent that you felt the need to interrupt me?”

“Oh, just a minor matter boss.” Anglur felt the 'boss' remark was bit sarcastic sounding. “It's just that, one of us went to find some food for Olon, our founder, and it turns out that there just isn't any. Food, that is. Might be something you to check out, seeing as you're the boss, for now.”

“For the love of-” Anglur sprang from her chair. The letter would have to wait. There was no way she could ignore this. Only thing worse would be running out of booze.




The letter would end up waiting for quite some time. By the time a few spare animals were slaughtered and more plump helmets planted, six dwarfs were pounding at the doors of the home tower, demanding entrance.

The leader of this group was one Argonnek, a decommissioned military officer looking for, as he put it, a bit of rest, relaxation, and joyous slaughter.



A not-entirely-secret meeting in the Bonelands:

Dariush looked over the group she had managed to gather in the small out of the way chamber. Most of the founders were there, with the exception of Kamudo. A few new migrants had showed up too. Hopefully that was a good sign. Only the four dwarfs who hand arrived with Anglur were really worth suspecting, and none of them were here. Probably up top, dealing with those merchants, Dariush though.



She mentally shrugged, and began to lay out her plan.

“Look, it's obvious that this outpost has taken a turn for the god-awful since Anglur has taken 'temporary' control. We've been short on food, we're getting short on drink.” A few loud grumbles at this. “And we've lost track of our original mission. We're here to dig, and explore! Let's not forget that. Now, what I'm proposing is that we hold a vote here, among us, the concerned citizens of Bonelands. Who do we want in control while Olon is crippled: Some usurper from who knows where, or one of the founders of this outpost, like me, or Derm, or any of the others? Give me your vote, and we'll take it on up to Anglur, where she's meeting with the merchants making who knows what sort of worthless deal, and show her where the power in Bonelands really lies!”

(Ps: What has doc been up too during all of this?



Yeah, Doc's been pretty busy. I know it has its problems, but I personally love the medical system for one single reason: It exists. Anyone who has played 40d knows what I mean.

In other news, it is now spring. That's right, I've made it through one year! One whole year!

Man, am I slow. )

(Coming soon: Ohshit ohshit ohshit ohshit. PROBLEMS. Look forward to i!)

[Dariush]

* Dariush drools in anticipation 

(That was out of character, don't incorporate this line into the story )

[ushilzagith]

OOC: Notes: While Anglur's main talents might be focused on deception, she does her best to maintain that she is a shopkeep, one who made and sold cheese and was a ranking member of related trade unions in the mountainhomes. Of course, this seeming ease of rising to power was probably a bit too good for her ego.

IC: Anglur shakes her head. Out of food? She supposes this is not unexpected. While she had readily established herself as a broker, she had forgotten that with Olon wounded, there was noone who would handle bookkeeping. Perhaps she could proffer this boring old job to that bald old hag who noticed this discrepancy as a 'reward'. Still, this can wait. It is obvious the old bat dislikes her deeply, so she must try and act all the more friendly, good-intentioned and (of course) hurt by any allegations to make sure this would-be enemy comes off as a paranoid and evil-minded old coot.

With that in mind, she goes back to the caravan.

"Dear master Besmarud. We need to make additional purchases. Any food and drink your caravan carries and can part with would be quite welcome until we complete our farms."

In case some bastard had been listening in while they were exchanging their greetings, Anglur had looked into the caravan's supply of seeds and considered buying them if there was anything good included, but actually buying all of their edible and drinkable stuff?

"Food and drink, mistress Limulnin? Surely you need our fine metalcrafts more than that?"

"I had a quick look into our food stockpile. It is perilously low."

That bastard dares to laugh. "Just what sort of an operation do you run here?"

Fuming on the inside, she forces herself to smile. "I am the broker first. At the now, the towers are run by committee moreso than by one person. Plus, I had been at the head of that said committee for less than two months."

She realizes she is far too open now, but getting every last piece of food that the caravan is willing to part with is more important than getting a good price, so it's better to plead for some of their excess rations than to barter over scraps. If it turns out that these thugs don't have any food to give her, the rest of those idiots might even consider lynching and Anglur is not prepared to deal with such attempts as of yet.

[Argonnek]

Journal of Argonnek, Centurion of the 10^th legion axe cohort.

We arrived at this tiny outpost today and introduced ourselves to the broker. I asked to see the militia commander to offer my services as a teacher of the fine art of the axe, but was told that there was no need for a commander before, so they never assigned one.

What kind of outpost are these pansy elfs running here? Fine, if they won't assign anyone, I'll make myself the commander and show them how it's done!

Now, I need to make sure we don't die in the inevitable oncoming goblin surge. We'll need a curtain wall around the fortress... (the writing quickly becomes a series of half-finished, crossed out, and confusing defensive diagrams.)

[Labs]

Would like a dwarf.
 
Name: Socradwarf
Gender: Male
Profession: Philosopher?!
 
Bio: Socradwarf, as he calls himself, is a dwarf on a mission to revive the old philosopher's way of life. There are old tales of dwarves, useless dwarves who were a burden to society. These dwarves would sit on their mountaintops and ponder the universe. Socradwarf just wants his own little shack with a small farm plot atop a hill. A place where he may ponder undisturbed.

[varnish]

I'm still working on this fort, but the long story short is that Olon died. It was a surprise. It will effect the story. Also, I haven't had time to play dwarf fortress for the past month or two, due to life and the fact that I have no job. (Fun fact: I actually have less free time when I am unemployed. That is the way the world is.) At any rate, things will continue soon enough, I hope.

[mrbobbyg]

Awesome, I would like to play.

My dwarf will be an earnest post-doc from the Mountainhome Institute of !!Science!! and Technology. 

[GaxkangtheUnbound]

I would like a dwarf.
"Caccast", if you can.
He'll be a glassmaker, or something.